Admirers of Andy Warhol and Philip Pearlstein have long been aware of the early, unlikely friendship between the prophet of Pop and the gimlet-eyed observational realist who stripped the human figure of all glamour or narrative implications. As the latter tells it, the acquaintance began in a way that already reflects the Andy we know: On the campus of the Carnegie Institute of Technology in Pittsburgh, now Carnegie Mellon University, a fellow student by the name of Warhola approached him because Pearlstein’s work had been published in Life magazine as the result of him winning a contest for high-school artists. The future Warhol asked, “How does it feel to be famous?” Pearlstein recalls his reply as, “It only lasted five minutes.” As we all know, Warhol later decreed that we should all have at least three times as much fame. In any case, the friendship continued when the two
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